


When a Man Points His Finger (He Should Remember Four are Pointed at Himself)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Discipline, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Spanking, blame, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve won't tolerate Hank taking his own fears out on Nik. Set during Nik's rookie season. Written per reader requests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Man Points His Finger (He Should Remember Four are Pointed at Himself)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveforhockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveforhockey/gifts).



“When a man points his finger at someone else, he should remember that four of his fingers are pointed at himself.” 

When a Man Points His Finger (He Should Remember Four are Pointed at Himself) 

When Nik knelt before him and couldn’t stop trembling like litter blowing up and down a boulevard during a windstorm, Steve wondered if his rookie would be able to speak at all. Kneading the nape of Nik’s neck, where he could feel Nik’s pulse thudding against the pads of his fingers like waves breaking at Malibu, Steve was about to offer a soothing comment to coax his rookie out of silence, but that proved unnecessary when Nik whispered, his tone cracking as if he hadn’t sipped water in days, “Sorry for being such a screw-up, Captain.” 

“You aren’t a screw-up?” Steve squeezed the back of Nik’s neck in affectionate emphasis. “Why would you think that you are.” 

“It’s my fault we lost.” Nik was staring at the floor as if it were the most dazzling of conversationalists. 

“Wrong, kid.” Steve’s hand drifted over to give Nik’s shoulder a gentle shake. “It was a butt-ugly loss, but it wasn’t your fault. We lost as a team.” 

Normally this was the point where Nik, who had a tendency to blame himself for things that he couldn’t control—it wouldn’t have surprised Steve if Nik felt responsible for the sun shining to strong on some days and giving people sunburn—would melt into Steve’s touch, cease his protestations of guilt, and let Steve guide him into accepting, at least temporarily, that he was not the sole reason that anything ever went wrong with the team. This time, though, Nik squirmed beneath Steve’s palm, wriggling like a fish fighting to escape a hook, and muttered, “You’re just saying that to try to make me feel better, Stevie, but I know it was my fault that we lost and that you don’t really believe that it’s not my fault that we lost because nobody on this team will ever really think that.” 

“Where on earth did you get that idea from, huh?” Steve’s forehead furrowed.

“Maybe somebody put the idea in my head.” Nik shifted from side to side, looking as nervous as a schoolboy called before a principal for punishment. 

“Who?” prodded Steve, lifting Nik’s quivering chin so that his concerned brown eyes met Nik’s watering blue ones. 

“I shouldn’t say, Stevie,” Nik mumbled, trying to pull his chin out of Steve’s grasp. 

“You should.” Steve cupped Nik’s chin, trapping it between his hands. “Tell me now, Nik.” 

“It was—“ Nik took a deep breath and then said so softly that his voice was almost swallowed by the gurgling radiator in the corner—“Hank.” 

“Hank?” echoed Steve, not wanting to believe his ears, because he expected Hank to grow into a leader on this team, someone who would encourage newcomers, not denigrate them. 

“Yeah.” Nik nodded, cheeks flaming hot enough to roast marshmallows. “He told me that every loss would be my fault, that nobody would ever believe me if I said I wasn’t to blame for a loss, and it just follows logically then that I shouldn’t think anyone is telling the truth about me not being responsible for a loss, doesn’t it?” 

“Nothing about what Hank said was logical.” Steve stroked Nik’s hair away from his forehead, exposing the tender flesh, and brushed his lips across it. “It doesn’t make sense that you would be to blame for every loss, and it’s not the truth either. The truth is that Hank was wrong to say what he did to you, kid, and you’ll be getting a heartfelt apology from him tomorrow. All right?” 

“I guess.” Nik burrowed his face in Steve’s kneecap, clearly craving comfort and reassurance. “I just still feel like I’m to blame for us losing.” 

“That’s because you are a good team player, not a bad one.” Steve slid his fingers softly through Nik’s hair. “You want the team to win so much that you blame yourself for losses that aren’t on you, but teammates are completely in the wrong if they take advantage of that devotion to your team to try to make you feel guilty about things you aren’t responsible for. Understand?” 

“Yep.” Nik lifted his head from Steve’s knee and gave a tremulous smile. “You’re saying the loss really wasn’t my fault, not just to make me feel better but because it’s true.” 

“Exactly.” Steve patted Nik on the back as he made his way through the door, explaining over his shoulder, “Now it’s time for me to track down that rascal Hank and talk some sense back into him.” 

Steve, who wanted nothing more than to give Hank a stern lecture and a searing spanking for the cruel words he had said to a younger teammate, would not have minded extra time to calm down to make sure that he was disciplining Hank from a place of firmness rather than anger, but it transpired that tracking down Hank was easy as finding a pig in mud. As Steve stepped out of the meeting room where Nik had been kneeling for him, the sounds of Hank’s laughter and teasing mingling with Pavel’s met his ears, and, following the giveaway noises of the Euro Twins at play around a bend in the corridor, spotted Hank engaged in an intense game of bubble hockey with Pavel. 

“You’re coming home with me now, Hank,” announced Steve curtly, marching over to Hank and grabbing the addressed about the elbow to prevent him from manipulating the sticks on which his bubble hockey players were affixed. 

“I’m playing with Pav now.” Hank tried to twist out of Steve’s grip, which tightened to an iron vise, as Pavel, whooping in delight, took advantage of Hank’s incapacitation to score against Hank’s motionless team. 

“You getting your ass whipped now.” Pavel smirked, and Steve, grim as a reaper, noted inwardly that Pavel didn’t have a clue how accurate an assessment of Hank’s immediate future that was likely to be. Or maybe Pavel did. Pavel had a sixth sense about him, always seeming to know more than he let on, and his words usually had double or triple meanings for anyone who bothered to truly examine them under a microscope in their minds. 

“You can play bubble hockey with Pavel tomorrow, but only if you’re good.” Steve tugged Hank away from the game and steered him down the hallway to the exit, as Pavel’s shouts of triumph at winning formed a counterpart to their steps as they left the arena. 

“You’re ruining my life, Stevie.” Hank glowered at Steve as the door slammed shut behind them. 

“Don’t whine.” Furious that Hank would dare to gripe about anybody ruining his life when he had inflicted psychological torture on a rookie, Steve delivered a sharp swat to the seat of Hank’s jeans. “You sound like you’re stuck in your terrible twos.” 

“We’re in public,” yelped Hank, reaching back to rub at his assaulted rump. “You spanked me in public. Are you trying to make me die of humiliation?” 

“Such dramatics.” Steve yanked his keys out of his pocket when they arrived at his car, jerked the keys in the lock, and flung open the door. “If you act like a bratty toddler in public, you can bet that I’ll spank you in public, but it’s your behavior, not the well-deserved spank, that should embarrass you, kid.” 

“I’m not a toddler,” Hank huffed, as he flopped—resentment etched into every line on his obstinate features—into his seat and Steve started the vehicle. “I just hate you.” 

“You seem to be hating a lot of people today,” remarked Steve tersely, driving the car out of the lot and toward his home. “Nik told me that you said he would be responsible for all our losses and nobody would believe him if he said he wasn’t.” 

“He told you that?” Hank’s snort was a mixture of contempt and incredulity. “What a wimp.” 

“Nik is not a wimp,” snapped Steve, clutching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white as ivory to resist the temptation to slap Hank’s cheek—not hard enough to hurt, but with just enough force to register his extreme disapproval—because he didn’t want to make the mistake of disciplining in anger, no matter how much Hank provoked him. “Bullies are wimps.” 

“Are you saying I’m a wimp?” Hank’s arms folded across his chest, wrapping about himself like a steel shield. 

“Are you saying you’re a bully?” countered Steve, arching an eyebrow. 

“No.” Hank’s teeth were gritted so that it was a challenge for Steve to make out the bitten out, single-word response. 

“That’s right. You aren’t a bully.” Steve took a steadying breath, reminding himself that this was an important opportunity to emphasize that he was condemning Hank’s spiteful behavior, not Hank himself. “You’re a supportive teammate, but what you said to Nik was utterly unacceptable and borderline bullying. Such words, especially directed toward impressionable rookies who need encouragement, not mockery, to develop properly will not be tolerated on this team. Understand?” 

“Whatever.” Hank rolled his eyes as if Steve had just rambled on about something as insignificant as textile prices in eighteenth century Britain. “I got it. How about you shut up now?” 

“I’m not going to shut up until I know you understand.” Steve scowled as he pulled the car into his driveway. “So, tell me what you understand, Hank.” 

“You don’t want me saying anything that might burst the bubble of Nik’s precious self-esteem.” Flippant enough to make Steve’s blood boil, Hank hopped out his door.

Climbing out of the car as well, Steve ordered crisply, “When we get inside, you will go right upstairs to the guest room and wait for me to come deal with you.” 

“Deal with me?” jeered Hank, rebellion and resentment radiating from him in equal measure as he stormed down the brick path that crisscrossed the front garden to Steve’s door. “Why don’t you just say you’re going to spank me again?” 

“I will spank you again.” Steve focused on unlocking the door in order to keep his hands busy so they would not strangle Hank. “Keep this attitude up, and I might not wait until we’re in the privacy of the guest room.” 

Looking somewhat cowed, Hank went upstairs to the guest room without argument once Steve had opened the front door, and Steve, taking a deep breath that probably sucked half the oxygen out of the foyer, was about to climb up the stairs after him when Lisa streamed out of the living room, wafting lavender perfume, and planted a kiss on each of his taut cheeks, murmuring, “What has Hank done to get your hackles up, love?” 

“He’s been a complete jerk to Nik.” Steve sighed into Lisa’s sweet-smelling dark hair, inhaling her scent to fortify himself for an unpleasant task that awaited him in the guest bedroom. “Then he’s been ruder than I thought possible with me.” 

“That doesn’t sound like Hank.” A wrinkle appeared between Lisa’s eyebrows. “What’s gotten into him?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve, heavy as a granite gravestone, shook his head. “Whatever it is, I’m going to spank it out of him.” 

“Something must be making him act up.” Lisa massaged Steve’s shoulders and then nudged him toward the staircase. “Spank him for what he did wrong but make sure you found out and deal with what’s really wrong with him.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve swooped down to kiss her lips before starting his climb to the guest room. “What kind of captain would I be without you?” 

“A great one.” Lisa’s tinkling giggle echoed in his ears as he made his way up the steps. 

With Lisa’s advice in mind, Steve rapped on the guest door, planning to approach Hank with a bit more sympathy than he had in the car, but found his temper rising again when Hank shouted through the wood, “Go away! I don’t want to see you or talk to you, for fuck’s sake.” 

Struggling to maintain a semblance of composure, Steve wrenched open the door, letting it slam closed in his wake, and stalked across the room to clench Hank’s shoulders where he was sitting on the bed. Giving Hank’s shoulders a forceful shake so that Hank would look at him instead of staring resolutely in the opposite direction, Steve warned, “If you don’t drop that tone this instant, Henrik Zetterberg, I swear that I will drop your underwear when I take you over your knee.” 

“Go away, I said!” Hank slapped at Steve’s wrists. “Don’t touch me, and don’t threaten me.” 

“Stop hitting me.” Steve’s command was quiet but frigid as ice. “You have no right to attack me like this.” 

“Fucking bastard.” Almost spitting in hysteria, Hank whacked at Steve’s arms. “You think you have a right to spank me, but I don’t have a right to defend myself.” 

“I’m your captain.” Steve trapped Hank’s hands between his own, sat down on the bed, and hauled Hank over his knee in a single swift motion, so that Hank didn’t have the time to process what was happening. As he locked Hank’s flailing legs between his knees and pressed a palm between Hank’s heaving shoulder blades to keep him relatively still throughout his impending punishment, Steve reached around Hank’s waist to unzip and lower Hank’s jeans before pulling Hank’s boxers down as well, revealing a pale buttocks that Steve did not look forward to turning crimson. “I have not only a right but a duty to spank you.” 

“Yep.” Hank’s sass persisted despite the stinging swats Steve landed, altering cheeks as he made his way down Hank’s reddening rear. “You’re downright noble to hit me whenever I annoy you, Captain.” 

“I don’t hit you when you annoy me.” Steve smacked Hank’s sit-spots and thighs. “I spank you when you hurt others with your bad behavior. You hurt Nik with your words today, and, though my hand is hurting you right now, you have to realize that the pain I’m putting you through is a walk in the park compared to the mental anguish you caused Nik by telling him that he was to blame for all our losses.” 

Hank’s backside was a maroon bordering on scarlet, so, hoping to end the spanking soon, Steve demanded, delivering strong slaps up Hank’s right butt cheek and then down his left, “Why did you say what you did to Nik, Hank?” 

Steve was silent for a moment, expecting a reply from Hank, but when none was forthcoming, he increased the force behind each smack and reminded Hank, “When I ask you a question during a spanking and you don’t answer, your stubbornness will only earn you extra swats, kid.”

“It’s none of your business.” Hank’s growl could not hide his tears. “There’s your answer.” 

“Your spanking won’t be over until you tell me why you were so mean to Nik.” Steve hammered away at Hank’s behind. 

“You can’t make me tell, Stevie,” protested Hank, but, despite his defiant declaration, his voice was shaky as Jello, and when Steve’s palm pounded at his sit-spots, he stifled a whimper in his fist. 

Sensing that Hank had to be on the verge of crumbling, Steve did not reply and instead blazed a trail up Hank’s hind quarters, rekindling fires that he had already lit during previous journeys along Hank’s bottom. He could feel Hank’s flesh burning beneath his punishing fingers, see Hank’s shoulders shiver with each swat, and hear the muffled cries emerging from around the balled hand wedged in Hank’s mouth, but Hank did not cave and admit to what had prompted his malicious remarks to Nik. 

Almost wincing himself at the scarlet heat that had consumed Hank’s rump, Steve considered the situation carefully. Although it was extremely rare for him to use anything except his hand to discipline his charges, he did store a paddle in the top drawer of the nightstand, and maybe a few licks from it would bring Hank to the point where he submitted to Steve entirely, accepting the spanking and confessing what had motivated his cruelty to Nik. 

Hating himself for the threat he had to make but seeing no viable alternative to getting Hank to surrender to the spanking without carrying the ordeal through the whole night, Steve informed Hank, “I’m afraid my hand isn’t strong enough to get through to you right now, kid, so I’m going to have to take a paddle to you. Stand up and bend over the bed now.” 

“No, please, Stevie.” Weeping as he clung imploringly to Steve’s knee, Hank begged, all traces of stubbornness sagging out of him as he collapsed against Steve. “Don’t paddle me. I promise I’ll answer your question. Just please don’t paddle me.” 

“Why did you say what you did to Nik, Hank?” prompted Steve, softening his spanks so they were barely more than pats to Hank’s burning backside. 

“Sometimes after a loss, I blame myself, thinking it’s all my fault that we lost.” Hank sniffled and swiped at his streaming nose with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “I took that out on Nik, because I wanted to blame him for the loss instead of myself. I’m sorry. It wasn’t right to do that.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Steve agreed, strengthening his swats as he finished the spanking on a firm note. “You can’t take out your fears on other people. You don’t have to fight your fears yourself, and you can share them with me or somebody else you trust to help you work through them, but you can’t inflict your pain onto other people. Not only is that completely unfair to the target you chose, but also it won’t make you feel any better. I mean, how do you feel about what you said to Nik?” 

“Bad.” Hank sobbed. 

“Exactly. You’re a good kid, and we don’t want you feeling guilty about bad behavior.” Steve ended with a stinging slap and then, rubbing circles into Hank’s shaking back, murmured, “That’s over, Hank, and I don’t want you blaming yourself for anything now. You’ve been punished for what you said to Nik—and you’ll be apologizing to him when you see him tomorrow—and you weren’t responsible for a team loss.” 

“I’m sorry.” Hank gazed up at Steve with a tear-stained face as he babbled, “I can’t believe that I said I hate you, Stevie, because I don’t and I didn’t mean it, not at all…”

“Relax.” Steve rumpled Hank’s hair. “I know you didn’t mean it, scamp.” 

“Do you hate me?” Hank hiccuped. 

“Of course not.” Steve bent down to kiss Hank’s forehead. “I could never stop loving you long enough to hate you.” 

“I suppose I am irresistible.” Hank’s lips quirked. “Even with snot all over my face.” 

“Let’s get that snot off.” Snatching a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand, Steve mopped the snot away from Hank’s nose and tossed the dirty tissue into the trash. “Snot doesn’t improve anyone’s looks, even yours.”


End file.
